


All manner of uncomfortable positions

by Cinnamaldeide



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abigail Hobbs Lives, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Flatmates, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Fingering, BDSM, Bathing/Washing, Beta!Hannibal, Beta/Omega, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, Figging, First Kiss, Flirting, Hand & Finger Kink, Hannibal Lecter is Not a Cannibal, Healing, Kid Fic, Light Bondage, M/M, Manicure, Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Missing Scene, Nail Technician Hannibal, Not Beta Read, Omega!will, One Shot Collection, Post-Season/Series 02, Post-Season/Series 03, Power Bottom Hannibal, Reading Aloud, Season/Series 01, Single Parents, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Touch-Starved, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Will follows Hannibal in Italy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 02:30:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13331616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnamaldeide/pseuds/Cinnamaldeide
Summary: Collection of one-shots inspired by requests I receive or find on Tumblr.Last update:That scene where Hannibal washes Bedelia’s hair in the bathtub… but instead of Bedelia, it’s Will.





	1. Obsessively

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sirenja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sirenja/gifts), [erodingthebluff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erodingthebluff/gifts), [FhimeChan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FhimeChan/gifts), [nephila_clavipes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nephila_clavipes/gifts).



> I finally made myself tag those kind people who prompted me with these wonderful ideas :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @Sirenja-and-the-stag: _I love everything about[this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12246243/chapters/30462657) and would love to read more._  
>  **Tags:** Season 1, Missing scene from Savoureux, Alternate Universe, Vampire!Hannibal, VampireHunter!Will, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha!Jack, Beta!Hannibal, Omega!Will, Dubious Consent, Minor Character Death, Not beta read

From an objective perspective, it would admittedly have been disingenuous to claim Will lacked evidence to suspect of Hannibal’s preternatural nature.

Despite his unforgivable sin of omission, his repeated confirmations of an apparently earthly existence, and the statistically low probability for an inhuman creature to remain excluded from secondary gender dynamics, Will suspected it would result entirely plausible, even natural, to consider Hannibal’s uncommon charm under a different light, had he not lowered his guard at Jack’s presence during their formal introduction.

Too occupied with figuring out the reason behind Jack’s request for his psychological evaluation, beyond an underlying scepticism driven by his Alphan instinct, Will hadn’t questioned his reliability.

Pointing the barrel of his gun loaded with silver bullets against his dubiously human psychiatrist, shaking from head to toe in the former Hobbs’ kitchen, Will fought against his singular most inappropriate heat, as an uncomfortable, familiar warmth spread over his tense shoulders, his sweating back, his tingling pelvis. With some ungrounded relief, Will realised Hannibal hadn’t been affected by his impending hormonal surges; apparently, he hadn’t lied at least about his own dynamical orientation.

That didn’t mean Will was safe.

“Abigail knew,” Will held with difficulty his position, “Abigail was a vampire, like her father, and you kept her secrets, until- until what? Until she found out you were one too?”

With his knowledge and experience on common vampire patterns, Will could have easily guessed his silent involvement had been dictated by an ancient hunger for mundane impulses, which since his transformation no longer would sate his peculiar appetites. With his unaggressive, even convivial manners, Hannibal had deceived Will into consider him an unthreatening surreal entity.

Hannibal always felt a little _transcendent_ , but Will would have never imagined he needed to throw up Abigail’s ear to suspect about his ambiguous indole. “I don’t even question your motives, you were just so curious what I would do, how I would react. It’s in your nature. It probably was even before you,” Will faltered, briefly overwhelmed by his crescent disorientation. His blood had been traveling towards his nether regions, without his willing acknowledgement, which in turn left his head lighter, his brain oxygen deprived.

“Before I became immortal,” Hannibal supplied, contemplating his trembling figure threatening to succumb to Abigail’s corrupted blood; Will fervently hoped he hadn’t ingested an amount sufficient to trigger his immune response, and that his dizziness was entirely imputable to his aroused state. Becoming was not in his own agenda.

“Not immortal, technically,” Will retorted, “I don’t always need nine shots to get down my targets.”

Without involving his unnaturally advanced strength, Hannibal shortened the respectful distance he employed up until that moment, similar to the gap he would maintain with a skittish prey. “If only you followed the urges you kept down for so long, cultivated your true nature as the incredible wonder it is,” he continued, seemingly unaware of Will’s gun and its far from idle threaten, “you would be relieved from your heaviest, most impeding burdens.”

Sustaining Will’s glassy gaze with his unexpectedly brilliant, soulful eyes, Hannibal visibly fought the impulse to participate in Will’s discomfort, to inhale his exhalations despite his unreceptive nose, to circle his waist with strong arms, while Will’s weak legs managed to succumb under his need to spread and _welcome_ , if he didn’t access to his suppressants in reasonable time.

“Perhaps you didn’t come here looking for a vampire,” he suggested, betraying probably for the first and last time in Will’s lifetime his true intentions, “perhaps you came here to become one.”

Hannibal might have intentionally withheld his malicious intents and profane inclinations to the Federal Bureau of Paranormal Activities Investigation, but risking capture at the hands of an empathic vampire hunter for the sole purpose of transforming said hunter, heedless of his incompatible blood and pathological instability, into a creature of the night required _commitment_ , and possibly an unhealthy obsession with the vampire slayer involved.

Will could just guess Hannibal needed to wait for his unscheduled heat, stick Abigail’s ear down his throat and insinuate Will would enjoy his eternal solitude, before sucking him dry and leave him to soak in his own slick, ashamed and vulnerable.

As his wavering sight began to blur at the edges and his arms felt significantly heavy on his tired shoulders, Jack’s familiar Alphan hormones satured the small kitchen. Will felt disgust at his own response for his strong, overwhelming scent, before Hannibal dropped his lifeless, fresh corpse in close proximity. Will shivered at the awkward sensations of slick running down his right leg, but couldn’t protest at his friend’s death.

Will noticed Hannibal hadn’t exsanguined his limp body, implicitly inviting him to feast upon it once his transformation had occurred.

 _This is the problem with Betas_ , Will thought, sliding on the floor as Hannibal sampled his aromatic flush directly from its source, bent over his own yielding shape, next to Jack’s cooling, yet still unbearably perfumed remains. _You never know how to interpret their mating behaviours._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this is my New Year’s resolution :)


	2. Endearing [#ThreeOfSwords]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @Erodingthebluff: _Post s3 Will touches Hannibal for the first time out of affection not because of clinical reasons and Hannibal unconsciously leans instantly into the touch, the touchstarved bastard, will notices and Hannibal gets all flustered and vulnerable... if I have one headcanon for s4 it’s a touchstarved Hannibal and one wish it’s an emotionally vulnerable Hannibal ;)_  
>  **Tags:** Post-Season 3, Touch-Starved, Suffering, Domestic, Not beta read ([x](https://cinnamaldeide.tumblr.com/post/170716587089/))

With clinic, apparently uninterested eyes, Will considered Hannibal’s imposing, unnaturally rigid posture; his all-encompassing glaze dwelled on broad, stiff shoulders, on tense neck tendons, on legs that would rather sit than stand.

In the familiarly dim light of their practiced, _trusted_ tailor’s fitting room, waiting for Hannibal’s careful selection of richly patterned fabric samples to join them, Will was under the disturbing impression that Hannibal wouldn’t admit to himself his own fatigue.

Hannibal enjoyed the cloying intimacy of an apprehensive, inquisitive scrutiny, Will noticed, and presumably would keep sustaining his silent, stoic claim of indifference as fiercely as he beared Mason’s brand.

Considering Hannibal’s unsurprising reluctance to abandon his sartorial pedestal, Will described an idle circle around his stiff stance, admiring his statuesque figure in front of the full-length mirror, before enforcing his own delicate investigation, so far discreet as an inconspicuous caress, with the light touch of his hand.

Uncertain, unhurried fingers tentatively ran on Hannibal’s clothed arm, resting along his flank with indolent inertia; from his elevated position, Hannibal almost managed to conceal his mild surprise.

“Do you remember our first intercontinental flight?” Will asked, standing between Hannibal and his reflected image. “When we tested the efficacy of the documents you provided for the first time,” he unnecessarily added, conscious of Hannibal’s delighted smile.

“You were so endearingly affected, when the security asked to open my hand luggage,” Hannibal meekly poked, absorbing Will’s light touch as were it warm sunlight.

“I couldn’t breathe, when they performed the physical control,” Will confessed. “I could only assume the worst happened, someone recognized my _memorable_ face, you decided to board a fucking bottle of water,” Will harshly palpated his chest, “I couldn’t even imagine.”

Hannibal enjoyed that too.

“I almost didn’t noticed your soft gasp, as they gently searched your jacket,” Will taunted in response, staring with intent at the barely noticeable clench of his jaw, “but I did, after all.”

Will knew about Hannibal’s not so unconscious appreciation for skin contact; he had been deprived of an intimate pleasure he never denied to himself for _years_ , before their newfound freedom. Will never purposefully indulged in undeserved concessions towards Hannibal, after discovering he could interact with Hannibal through small, apparently insignificant gesture, such as a gentle caress or a powerful grip.

Will had beaten Hannibal up more than once, after their full physical recover, before reaching this obvious realisation. Hannibal had enjoyed every single one of his punches, and returned in kind, while Will wondered about their inexplicable balance.

Hannibal had always been malleable under Will’s touch; he had silently longed with all his might for Will to succumb under his addictive closeness, too.

“Valentine is approaching,” Will pressed invisible wrinkles on his tight waistcoat, minding his nice, hideous scar, hidden behind his carefully tailored clothes. “I feel compelled to absolve the onerous task Freddie entrusted me with,” Will bought his hands on his neck, on his cheek, letting Hannibal melt on his welcoming palm and close his tired eyes, “but I can’t keep you satisfied with our arrangement, if you strain yourself because you can’t admit to yourself your legs are not what they used to be.”

Waiting for Hannibal to accept his nonthreatening hand to step foot onto the wooden floor with his aid, Will glimpsed an amused twinkle in his brilliant eyes.

“If you keep spoiling me with your kindness, my dear,” Hannibal gingerly wrapped his arm around Will’s offered sustain, “I fear I’ll expect the same chivalry for this weekend.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Fannibal Fest Toronto and Hannibal Cre-Ate-Ive’s #[ThreeOfSwords](http://hannibalcreative.tumblr.com/post/168759249364/)


	3. Suspiciously

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @Andhumanslovedstories: _When I was very very into Hannibal, I remember thinking that this desire was so dumb but I just wanted a fic where like… au time… Hannibal really is just a psych trying his best to help Will. He can’t communicate like a normal person and says a lot of ominous shit, but he’s good at cooking the usual meats and probably oversteps his professional bounds but in like. a helpful friendly normal way. He’s never tasted human flesh and he’s happy to tell you that._  
>  **Tags:** Season 1, Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Hannibal is _Not_ a Cannibal, Will still has some Dark Tendencies, Not beta read ([x](https://cinnamaldeide.tumblr.com/post/171722137064/))

“I mean, I believe you,” Will declared, visibly sacrificing his characteristic sarcasm in favour of an amicable, more tactful attitude, “but you must understand that it’s a bit uncomfortable that you keep specifically denying it.”

Against his own professional interest, Hannibal couldn’t help appreciating his convivial, teasing tone. Knowing that Will was comfortable with him enough to occasionally put aside their patient-doctor relationship always reminded Hannibal about his inappropriate hope to consolidate and possibly extend their timid friendship. “My name rhymes with _cannibal_ , Will,” Hannibal mildly pointed out, preparing a sweet fruit sauce to go with his still roasting main course, “I don’t judge people for their concerns.”

His _entirely free from human flesh_ main course, as Hannibal insisted on specifying.

Waiting for his seasoned Long Island duck to finish browning inside his oven, perfuming his entire kitchen with, according to Will, a _suspiciously delicious smell_ , Hannibal savoured his modest glass of dry white wine, while Will similarly sipped from his own.

Hannibal had been graced with his pleasant company after Will brilliantly solved an awful, unspeakably gruesome case for the Federal Bureau; another exhausting day for his unofficial patient, which made Hannibal question Will’s mental sanity for deliberately torturing himself in such a fashion and his own for allowing him to do so.

Sending him home with a full stomach and an adequate pink on his stubbled cheeks, instead of his usual pale, faded skin tone, partly atoned Hannibal’s guilty conscience for letting Jack push Will beyond his capacities. Hannibal would have politely refused to rubber stamp him, had Will even remotely expressed some form of his evident discomfort; as it was, the therapist could only support his patient’s reckless choices and hope not to face unpredictable, disastrous consequences.

Lowering his shifty eyes, Will confessed, “It’s not just your name.” He demurely fiddled with the long stem of his own glass. “It’s the way you present yourself, outlandish and refined, your grand house and your imposing office, your habit of matching wine--”

“The one I selected for our dinner is still decanting,” Hannibal unhelpfully stated.

“--coupled with your strong, sometimes intimidating presence.” Will paused, frowning. “Why would we even drink something _else_? This is fine,” but ultimately he raised his hands in surrender, unwilling to discuss Hannibal’s culinary whims. “Not to be mean, but people get uncomfortable for this kind of little things.”

Speechless and eyes wide open in astonishment, Hannibal refrained from observing that rich red wines simply complimented bushmeat better than a Chardonnay ever could. His appalled expression must have been so eloquent that Will had guessed as much. He tried to recover quickly, “I trust you’re not among them.”

“--and your uncommon way to talk.”

Outraged, Hannibal retorted, “I’m _Lithuanian_. English is my fourth language, not considering the classical ones.”

Slightly flustered by his own unexpected involvement in such mundane observations, Hannibal wondered about his much envied presence of mind, of which he arguably couldn’t see any evidence in their conversation.

Noticing Will was on the verge of laughing for his seemingly amusing admission, Hannibal considered reproaching Will for his unsympathetic humour, before being affected by the knowledge that such an innocent slip of his tongue was enough to improve Will’s usually grim mood. “Apparently,” Hannibal said instead, “you’re risking to dine with a psychopathic murderer.”

Hannibal doubted Will had reservations about the source of his _duck-shaped_ portion, served with a sauce made with orange juice and brown sugar that made Will’s eyes cross at the first morsel; Hannibal intended to similarly find nourishment at the sight of his sated guest.

“I’m not, by the way,” Will abruptly blunted out, flustered with his own wording immediately after, “among them, I mean. I enjoy your food-wine matching and all the rest.”

Hannibal admired his clever smile, between one forkful and the other, before he continued, “I would have eaten at your table even if you fed me, I don’t know, _alligator_ , and I couldn’t detect its difference from human flesh,” Will emphasised, “which is totally _not_ a suggestion. I probably do, I come from Louisiana.”

“So what is it, then?” Hannibal encouraged him. He was intrigued by the way in which Will toyed with the perspective of sharing a recipe based on unethically purchased ingredients with him.

“It’s my final leap of faith in your innocence,” Will teased, good-natured. His distracted tone described the acrobatic evolutions of his unrestrained thoughts, as his beautiful, dangerous mind rendered certain fantasies almost realistic. As the well-presented serving upon he feasted acquired an excruciating, macabre flavour. Not a whiff of the bashful man unnecessarily feeling guilty about crimes he didn’t commit, but instead an intrigued creature with thorns and famished fangs.

His languid eyes betrayed a suspicious tenderness towards the product of his imagination, Hannibal noticed, as he softly whispered, “I wonder what your design would be like.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @Whimsy-by-joja, indeed, Will rhymes with kill ;)


	4. Unspeakably

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @The-broken-tea-cup: _Someone pls write an AU in which Will is a theatre actor and he’s incredible at it because he can really empathize with the character he’s playing and he interprets a lot of twisted dark characters in tragedies and Hannibal sees him and can get him out of his mind so he starts going to everyone of his performances and always sends him gigantic flowers bouquets and then they finally meet please I need to read it but I can’t write (I thought of this while thinking how to make will wear a fricking ton of makeup without being ooc because we all need that)_  
>  **Tags:** Season 1, Alternate Universe, Different First Meeting, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Stage Actor Will, Cross-gender acting, Floral offering of various nature, Biblical references, Will Graham as Judith the Jewish heroine, Not beta read ([x](https://cinnamaldeide.tumblr.com/post/172785305449/))

Leaning against his own dressing room threshold with palpable irritation, Will Graham surveyed an audacious admirer, presumably interested in conveying his congratulations for an appreciated performance, laying a rich, beautiful bouquet of orchids on his cluttered desk.

Unaware of his unimpressed observer, the elegant stranger of evident refined tastes searched with avid, incredibly inappropriate curiosity Will’s modest quarters, seemingly drawn to his not graduated glasses.

“It’s impolite to enter without permission,” Will abruptly attracted his attention, walking in the room before the intriguing satin tail of his stage costume, stained with fake blood. “I’ll have to ask you to leave immediately.”

Apparently undisrupted by his sharp, commanding tone, Will’s uninvited guest regarded him with subtle eagerness, concealing an unspoken delight at the fortunate encounter with his favourite behind a singularly studied expression. “I beg your pardon,” he meekly conceded, respectfully tilting his head in deference to, Will presumed, his feminine clothes.

His clean-shaven face could closely resemble a woman’s, especially covered with greasepaint and deep red lipstick. Consequently, Will was often cast to play female roles with remarkable strength; Giraudoux’ Judith being his most recent case. In her guise, he could believe the man had mistaken his gender, had Will not uttered a word.

Following his unhurried retreat with lowered gaze, glimpsing in passing the affable smile plastered on his intrusive visitor’s face, Will surpassed him with feigned noncurance, keeping his distinguished suit in the corner of his own vision. Unfathomably, Will’s latent instinct suggested a quiescent predator was with him in the room.

As deliberate steps resounded behind his tense shoulders, Will diverted his sharp attention to an attractively arranged bunch of pale pink flowers, crimson mottled lips, held in a scarlet silk ribbon. Among soft petals, the familiar envelope of an unassuming greeting card stood out. On its creamy white paper appeared the nondescript signature in a fancy handwriting, which Will had learned to appreciate.

“I wondered if I’d ever meet you, Mr. _H. L._ ,” Will interrupted his silence.

“I was beginning to lose hope myself. I wasn’t planning on lingering in your rooms,” his admirer confessed, “even if I cannot claim I wasn’t optimistic about our eventual encounter.”

Turning to face him, Will assessed his previous hostile inclination towards this distinguished man. Despite his own unconscious uneasiness, Will couldn’t sense any particular threat, nor could he associate to his relaxed features an obsessed maniac. His discourteous lack of boundaries wasn’t enough to describe him as anything other than bold, a bit over the top maybe, but it would be just as impolite to deny him an amicable conversation therefore.

“I’m pretty tired, and generally not great at socializing,” Will warned him, “but I’d appreciate the company, if you don’t mind staying while I remove my makeup.” Will seldom interacted with colleagues and staff after his shows. He needed time to adjust himself to his own reality, to remember his own story after entering a fictional character’s mind for so long. Strangers and friends equally bled in, while Will experienced such unstableness, but apparently not this very one. Optimism was apparently contagious.

“I don’t,” his guest readily acquiesced, before introducing himself. “Doctor Hannibal Lecter, in case you’d like to associate a full name to my signature.”

Demurely glancing at those flourishly written initials, Will picked the envelope in question. “I’ve been seeing it often in the last months, Doctor Lecter,” Will said, turning it in his hand not yet investigating its content, “and I enjoy your remarks on my performances.”

His answering smile expressed moderate satisfaction.

“I’ve received only roses from you so far,” Will observed, inviting his visitor to take a seat with a casual nod, before deflecting his eyes on his own mirror. “I wonder what changed.”

Searching for his post-exhibition washcloth to moisten, Will busied himself with fresh water and makeup remover, cotton balls and swabs. His cleansing routine consisted of alternating detergent products of Beverly’s choice in a specific order. Will memorized the sequence and could perform it without diverting his attention from the conversation.

“Ancient Greeks considered orchids symbols of virility, their large tuberous roots were often associated with fertility, both feminine and masculine,” the doctor explained. “I decided to honour your intrinsic manliness through a traditionally womanish tribute, considering your present character.”

With a sideway glance, Will expressed his own perplexity at his curious statement.

“According to deuterocanonical manuscripts of the Old Testament, Judith saved her people by hatching her meticulous plot against Holofernes. Seducing him with her compelling charm and her good wine, she got close enough to wound him, to subdue him,” he summarised, undeterred by the fact that Will was perfectly aware of those events. “Beheading the rival general provided an effective deterrent for the invading army.”

Running his damp cloth on his dirty face with delicate, calm strokes, Will considered his fair assertion. Fragments of Judith’s cruel reasoning still persisted on the corner of his stabilizing conscience. “My recital suggests it does.”

“Some scholars argue that Judith enjoyed her act as expression of her unforgiving vengeance, instead of enduring a necessary sacrifice,” Doctor Lecter continued, following Will’s careful movements with watchful eyes. “I’d like to know your opinion on her behaviour.”

Suspecting an unsavoury truth about his inquisitor, Will regards him closely. There had been an awful lot of discussion about his extensive employ of the Stanislavski’s acting approach. Considering it required complete immersion into the character’s mindset, Will had rightly benefited from his empathy disorder to acquire the peculiar taste of most twisted roles.

Unfortunately, an inopportune reporter discovered the unflattering results of his psychological  evaluation, back when screening procedures precluded Will’s possible career as an FBI agent, and thought to render his medical condition public knowledge.

Will guessed Hannibal Lecter belonged to the TattleStage readership.

“I only rely on the script I’m given,” Will commented, self-deprecating. “I’m not a dramatist, I stay away from critic articles and I don’t possess homicidal inclinations, as some insinuate.” Will had rapidly become a succulent topic of conversation in psychiatric circles, as well as in recital companies, and not for his acting talent.

“Judith is quite an interesting role to play, in my experience.” Will dutifully scrubbed an insistent smudge of carmine red lipstick from his mouth. “Not everyone possesses her capacity for extreme acts of cruelty, justified or not,” Will conceded. “She was a productive member of her society, a loving wife to her late husband, before becoming a biblical heroine. She could have continued her life without getting blood on her hands, hoping her God would save her and the Jewish people to which she belonged, instead Judith choose to sacrifice her humanity for her folk’s sake and embrace her obscure nature in the name of justice.” Wiping his face with a clean towel, Will absentmindedly considered aloud, “As they say, opportunity makes the thief.”

“The murderer as well, it would appear,” Lecter added, seemingly amused with his macabre observation. “On her triumphant return, Judith must have felt powerful like a Goddess.”

“She certainly felt righteous,” Will said. “An unforgiving woman ready to strike her relentless vengeance upon those who attempted to poison and offend her honour.”

“You could share her indignation, in that respect,” Lecter keenly observed. “You experienced a regrettable disrespect due to an inconsiderate journalist in search of a scoop.” Concealing his open disdain behind an eloquent grimace, he sought validation in his listener’s expression. “Was that not unspeakably rude of them, Mr. Graham?”

Playful delight painted Hannibal’s sharp, defined lips, as were Will’s in red lipstick but minutes earlier. “Indeed,” Will said, caught with the distinct impression that the predator he previously sensed never left the room. “Enough to draw my bad temper,” Will declared, before specifying, “not enough to remember their name.”

Will _did_ recall it, by virtue of his eidetic memory, but his intrusive guest didn’t need to know. Instead of straying from Judith’s strong mind, Will felt like he was straying from his own. His visitor seemed intent in promoting such convergence between the two.

Will wondered if Hannibal Lecter remembered the name of the reporter.

“I won’t take up anymore of your time,” his guest politely retreated, shifting his chocolate overcoat on his arm to stand. “Have a good evening, Mr. Graham. I hope you like my floral offering,” he saluted with an intriguing smile, before silently closing the door behind himself.

With a curious sense of stupor, as if his admirer had taken with himself his capacity to concentrate, Will considered he hadn’t reciprocated his courteous greeting. Asking himself if the smell of those flowers would explain his unusual dizziness, Will briefly changed his stained clothes and rearranged his dressing room, dreading Beverly would otherwise do in his stance.

As soon as he regained complete presence of mind, Will carried his flourish bouquet into his station wagon and drove home. His dogs excitedly welcomed his arrival, as they were wont to do, despite the supposed olfactory assault. Will returned their affection with praises and caresses.

In front of his dusty monitor, curious to investigate his particular gift and its possible secondary meaning, Will considered typing a succinct description of his flowers, before an interesting result appeared at the spontaneous mention of _white orchid_ and _stage performance_.

An atrocious, sophisticated murder was committed the previous night, while Will practiced in his spartan stage, away from prying eyes. Photos from the crime scene showed the gruesome details of an overweight individual, on whose fat flanks was carved a familiar line, _Opportunity makes the thief_.

To accompany such dramatically beautiful frames, pale pink orchids, crimson mottled lips, prettily adorned the mockingly disposed corpse.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be around five hundred words, then something went horribly wrong.


	5. Ridiculous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @Fhimechan: _Hello! :D Congratulations for your milestone! I’d really love to read your take on prompt 24, “Are you really going to leave without asking me the question you’ve been dying to ask me?” Possibly I’d like for it to be the most ridiculous Hannigram revelation you can think of! Congratulations again!_  
>  **Tags:** Season 1, Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Kid Fic, Single Parent Will, Conflicted Hannibal, Original Child Character, Not beta read ([x](https://cinnamaldeide.tumblr.com/post/173760989134/))

In his consummate experience as a psychiatrist, Hannibal Lecter occasionally found himself inheriting lavish properties from his generous deceased patients. In their latest months under his therapeutic care, many inconsolable and chronically depressed individuals felt curiously compelled to include Hannibal in their wills.

Such occurrence hardly aroused sympathetic feelings in him, arguably responsible for their whimsical choices at their inconsiderate relatives’ expense. Being unexpectedly trusted with his most unconventional patient’s illegitimate daughter, on the contrary, awakened conflicting emotions, which Hannibal would have preferred remained quiescent.

“Clarice, this is Doctor Hannibal Lecter,” Will made polite introductions, delicately caressing the little girl’s clammy, impossibly small hand. “I need to leave you in his care for a while.” Her evident lack of enthusiasm blurred with understandable suspiciousness. “I’ll come back as soon as I can,” Will patiently assured her, unrelenting. “Promise me you’ll behave.”

Less than a month prior, Will asked Hannibal to feed his pack of strays in his absence, as Jack peremptory requested his presence in Connecticut for a crime scene. Hannibal expected Will’s recent addition to his surrogate family, contrary to his dogs and Abigail Hobbs, would drastically change Jack’s currently irrefutable instructions and his commanding attitude.

“Her mother never told me about her existence,” Will had hesitantly confessed on the phone, far from Clarice’s delicate ears, in increasing panic, “she just dropped here, handed me her birth certificate, said she couldn’t take care of her anymore.” His voice didn’t falter, while his nostalgic tone subsided. “Jack just called for another case. I can’t take her with me,” Will declared, resolute. “This won’t happen again,” he guaranteed, “I’ll make sure of that.”

Quite an interesting character to make acquaintance with, this remarkable woman. Hannibal could effortlessly imagine including her in his dinner plans. Tucking his nefarious thoughts into an inconspicuous corner of his mind for later considerations, Hannibal spared a dreadful moment to predict Will’s immediate leave to properly address his exceptional circumstances.

Admiring from his threshold the quiet little girl staring at himself with perceptive, penetrating blue eyes, Hannibal felt uncomfortably prone to experience an oscillating combination of repressed jealousy and inconvenient fondness. His inappropriate inner turmoils with regard to Will’s soon to be legitimated progeny, against all odds, caused him a ridiculous discomfort.

As Will perfunctory packed his bags, hopefully fast enough to catch the next flight to Buffalo, Hannibal cast aside his own ache to harness Will’s firm resolution, in regard to his daughter, and to thoroughly consume his powerful, pliable mind.

Hannibal suddenly realised Will could make quite a stunning father.

“I think I have everything with me,” Will doubtfully declared, checking his own pockets. “I hate to ask this of you, but you’re one of the few I would entrust with her.” Hannibal detected his discomfort in acknowledging her name, as if still hesitant about her very existence.

Dressing his adequately fitting suit of an attentive friend, Hannibal addressed his latent issues with the recondite concept of _family_. “Her mother bestowed on her quite a meaningful name,” he observed. “Clarice could present you with the bright light amid the viscous darkness of those serial killers haunting your nightmares.”

Something to discuss during their next appointment, provided Will wouldn’t extricate himself from his unrecorded therapy before the coming Friday. Hannibal doubted Jack would allow such an unpropitious occurrence, he estimated instead to have enough time to consolidate his position in Will’s life before he would distance himself beyond repair.

Contrary to his rather literally transient partner, whose perfume still distinctly hung between them, Hannibal had every intention to stay.

“Are you really going to let me leave without asking me the question you’ve been dying to ask?” Will abruptly questioned, promptly pulling Hannibal out of his ambitious reverie with uncharacteristic steadiness in his purposeful eyes.

 _Who’s the mother_ , insistently demanded the bloodthirsty creature disguised under his opulent dress, which Hannibal diligently learned to conceal. Not well enough, evidently.

Judging from Will’s expecting silence, Hannibal assumed a similar conversation previously occurred with a different, less tactful interlocutor. Hannibal briefly wondered if Will resolved to ask for his help after Alana’s polite declination. “You’re quite clearly uncomfortable about the matter,” Hannibal conceded, “I wouldn’t want to pry before due time.”

Intimately pleased with Will’s slight flush at his casual mention of their future encounters, Hannibal followed his quick pace towards his station wagon, before his young little daughter demurely appeared by Hannibal’s side, uncomfortably reluctant to avert her observant eyes, in her oversized coat and cheap shoes.

“I wouldn’t presume on your mother’s appearance,” Hannibal respectfully offered, not quite collecting her hesitant notice, “but you greatly resemble your father.”

With deferential pensiveness, Clarice ridiculously furrowed her fair eyebrows, exhibiting an expression altogether similar to one belonging in Will’s own repertoire. “No one has ever told me that before.”

Hannibal shall endeavour to become a reliable father figure for her, as well.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably not what Fhime intended with _ridiculous_ (_ _ ;)


	6. Manhandling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @foyernormanchapel: _Give me Will manhandling Hannibal by the knot of his apron_  
>  **Tags:** Season 1, Alternate Universe, Flatmates, De-aged Characters, Perfectionism, Manipulation, Flirting, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Not beta read ([x](https://cinnamaldeide.tumblr.com/post/174748491259/))

Assessing the pristine, spotless stove with a critical eye, looking at his own twisted reflection on stainless surfaces and hanging cooking utensils, Hannibal considered the pointlessness of such an impressive equipment in an apartment destined to transient students and their passing friends.

Wiping droplets of soapy water from the wooden kitchen counter, Hannibal resolved to take with himself his own knives and spatulas, when his current internship at John Hopkins would conclude. He volunteered to tend to the kitchen, to store it with whatever amenity he deemed necessary. Letting mere carelessness blunt his instruments would be such a terrible waste.

His agreeable fellow occupants, as considerate as they were, didn’t appreciate their value.

“Hannibal, move over a bit,” Beverly suddenly demanded, surprising him with a delicate pull on his apron, an unexpectedly familiar gesture. Despite his brief bewilderment, Hannibal reserved an inviting smile for his vivacious flatmate, whom required access to the trash bids. Beverly mercifully distinguished between paper and organic.

Apparently, his uncharacteristic silence surprised her in turn. “You _do_ startle when I mess with your ribbon,” Beverly observed, teasing. “Will was totally right about your fussiness,” she remarked, pleased with her discovery. Hannibal considered her an intelligent person and respected her unbridled instincts to investigate situations or, in his case, individuals that arose her suspicion.

Admiring her ostentatious tank top, dominated by colorful rainbows and stylized unicorns, Hannibal guessed her long-awaited appointment with the pride community was imminent. Hannibal had relied on all his tact to placate her adamant resolution to involve him in outdoor celebrations as well. She resolved involving another poor, meeker acquaintance.

“Speaking of whom, is your companion on his way to our mansion?” Hannibal gently asked.

“Don’t call him that, you know Will is just a friend,” Beverly casually huffed. “He should be here any moment,” she added, seemingly distressed with her lack of time for further preparations. Hearing their doorbell ring, Hannibal understood why.

“Can you handle him for a minute? I just need to comb my hair, I swear,” which meant she still intended to work on her makeup. “With that shirt on, you could even start quoting your textbooks of medicine, Will wouldn’t even mind,” which let Hannibal presume she was aware of his soft spot for the young man. Despite Hannibal’s denial, appealing to his pride worked.

Reprimanding her with a condescending look, Hannibal headed to accommodate their guest. He attentively straightened his clothes and folded his sleeves before opening the door for her inconspicuous, delightfully compelling escort.

On the other side of the threshold, an uniformed police officer awkwardly endeavoured to sustain Hannibal’s momentarily disbelieving stare. “She’s late, isn’t she,” he assumed, unperturbed. With a demure glimpse, his sharp eyes run on Hannibal’s relatively casual attire, before continuing his deduction. “You were in the middle of something, I’m sorry.”

“You’re always welcome, Will, even in dire circumstances such as periodical cleanings of our kitchen,” Hannibal recovered, readily allowing him entrance. After refusing his offered aperitizer, Will accepted an innocuous glass of water, fleetingly ogling Hannibal’s final touches to his occupation.

 _Very meticulous_ , Will’s gaze conveyed with transparency. His inquisitive, encompassing eyes lingered on Hannibal’s whole figure, seemingly rather interested in his long forearm and busy fingers. Gingerly peering in turn at his short sleeves, black epaulettes with golden details, matching buttons hidden under a sober dark tie, Hannibal wondered about its provenance. It fitted perfectly Will’s broad chest and slim waist. His own keen interest abruptly reminded him of Beverly’s distrait remark about his fastidiousness.

“How are your studies in forensic science proceeding?” Hannibal effortlessly dispelled their languid silence. “Beverly still can’t figure your astonishing deductive abilities.”

“She gets competitive when I’m around,” Will confessed.

“And very protective of you when you’re not,” Hannibal countered. “She also respects your personal opinion and tests your little theories, if her recent accusation is any indication.” Judging by Will’s light frown, further explanations were required. “Beverly commented on my attention to detail, which I suspect you pointed out to her,” he continued, pleased with Will’s slight flush.

“We rarely interact with each other, I’m quite disappointed by my unsuccessful attempt at disguising my own flaws,” Hannibal said. “I’d like to infer the cause of your consideration to my penchant for perfection,” _flattering as it is_ , Hannibal refrained from adding. “Your analysis might enlighten other faults of mine, which I’m eager to rectify.”

For a split second, Will seemed tempted to forfait his bashful speechlessness and ask for another glass of water, his throat undoubtedly dry. Instead, his tense shoulders easened, Will distended his contracted neck. Sustaining contact with such beautiful, suddenly confident eyes certainly pleased Hannibal.

“I noticed your shoes in the hallway meticulously aligned with the doormat,” Will began with ease. “At first I didn’t pay much attention, I just set mine next to yours with no particular care. When I went to pick them up, they were neatly put parallel to the others.” Will scratched his short scruff. “I guess it didn’t mean anything, but I started looking more often and I saw your precisely presented dishes, your impeccable hair, your perfectly tied bows,” Will listed, conversational, as if he weren’t performing a disturbingly accurate portrait of Hannibal’s blind spots. “They just kept leaping in front of my eyes after a certain point.”

Hannibal was momentarily relieved for Beverly’s absence. Will’s gaze briefly trailed towards his waist, covered with an immaculate apron, seemingly recalling the ribbon on Hannibal’s lower back.

“I could see a pattern,” Will continued, relentless, “I identified your personal touch in the flat, could even guess what you intended to move from one location to another before you did, like that horrible umbrella in the coat rack.” An unbidden smile graced his lips. “Beverly still wonders where it disappeared, by the way.”

“You haven’t told her,” Hannibal deduced, “but you gave her a weapon to address my selfish decisions, suggesting she could in turn manipulate me through my whims and trifles.”

It surprised Hannibal that Will had never manhandled the knot himself, to sustain his claim. Maybe the knot hadn’t been the initial focus of his attention. With appropriate immodesty, Will displayed an incredibly impertinent, fascinating smirk. “They say the devil’s in the details.”

Hannibal would have gladly shown him the devil reflected in his own sharp knives, out of his reach. It bothered him to be read so clearly as much as it excited him. “I wonder whether a similar hypothesis could be brought upon your own case. They also say you need one to catch one,” Hannibal pondered, intrusively curious. “Would I manhandle you with the same ease, were I to find your own weakness? The outfit you’re wearing states without doubts someone already has you wrapped around their finger.”

As if summoned by Hannibal’s implicit call, Beverly appeared from her double room with an entirely different appearance and a satisfied grin on her lips. Her appearance visibly lightened the mood, although Hannibal enjoyed Will’s visible shivers at his statement.

“Beverly thought dressing me like a failed Village People was a good idea, for some reason,” Will explained, following his friend towards the exit. “I’m not sure I look any less ridiculous than her,” he whispered to himself, eyeing her glistening multicolored paillettes.

Straightening his ordinary tie with a swift move, Hannibal commanded Will’s attention on his supple, unmarked neck. “You don’t,” Hannibal said, handling him with confident hands, a breath away from his mouth opened in stupor. “I hope my word will be reassuring enough.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Pride Month everyone ♥


	7. Intimately [#SummertimeSlick]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @Nephila-clavipes: _Just read your[little ficlet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12246243/chapters/29683962)! If you ever wanna expand on it you’ll have no complaints from me :))))_  
>  **Tags:** Season 1, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta!Hannibal, Omega!Will, Beta/Omega, BDSM practices, Figging, Light bondage, Not beta read ([x](https://cinnamaldeide.tumblr.com/post/175740043469/))

Making Will craft his own torture device meant achieving higher degrees of awareness, according to Hannibal. Higher degrees of awareness meant better handle on strong emotions. Better handle on strong emotions meant stricter control over aggressive instincts and defined personal boundaries, which intimately interested Will.

Paving his tough way to such an audacious accomplishment, however, inevitably required the construction of solid foundation, for which Hannibal endeavoured to account.

“Your empathy requires quiet, safe environments for your mind to reestablish its balance after prolonged exposure to tempers typically much more violent than your own,” Hannibal had calmly explained in his sober office on that fateful appointment, when Will had sunk so deeply into an Alpha’s pathological influence as to gather his impending rut before recovering. “Your isolated house quite evidently is not offering such peace anymore,” Hannibal stated, as Will fidgety paced around in a poor attempt to tame his own residual agitation. While Hannibal’s unremarkable betan odour hadn’t disturbed his omegan hormonal receptors, Will’s flushed skin had exuded an acrid, insistent scent, difficult to avoid for an extraordinary receptive nose as the doctor’s. “I can provide alternative means to unleash your conflicting urges and prevent their progressive accumulation.”

To Hannibal’s utter delight and mildly unprofessional curiosity, Will eventually acquiesced his rather unconventional suggestion. Sending furtive glances at Hannibal’s comprehensive, reassuring hands, his beautiful, restless mind apparently settled on disclosing his whole self to his unofficial therapist. After reluctantly allowing access to his vivid imagination, trusting Hannibal with his precious stability, Will deliberately offered the rest of himself to his care, managing his growing expectations while Hannibal provided lavish meals to coddle his palate, human touch to assuage his loneliness, comforting linens to starve his nightmares.

Will agreed to explore those recondite, cumbersome fragments of his dynamical nature, which social norms tended to ascribe as _prominently alphan traits_ and modern medicine addressed with physical devices, such as soft restrains, anger safe outlets, biting simulators. Despite his understandable disinclination towards naked exposition, Will came to accept penetration as well. Fortunately for both involved participants, Hannibal boasted an enviable penchant for unorthodox practices.

In virtue of Hannibal’s scarcely impressionable dynamic, which featured his involvement as untraditional rather than compromising, Will granted his complete disposal, applying the sole explicit limitation on his own heats. Hannibal intimately knew rules were made to be broken, in due time. Holding the skinned root Will carefully shaped by its handle, Hannibal felt much like prodding at their edge.

“Remaining close to our metaphorical figure, you described heat as a house without electrical power during a storm,” Hannibal recited, positioning his unoccupied hand on Will’s bare flank in an impersonal, soothing caress. “No light nor control, your mere smell and touch to orient yourself in the darkness of your clouded mind,” he continued, marginally unsettled by his own eagerness to divest Will’s remaining skin with casual moves and purposeful fingers. “Your decision to exclude such strong surges from our sessions is perfectly understandable, yet for this particular practice it might have been appropriate to stimulate your seminal liquid production.”

Lying on his stomach, bent on Hannibal’s desk in a suggestive arch, Will inhaled deeply, before turning his pliable, unmarked neck to his instructor. “I can bear a little tingling,” he defended himself, conscious of his own submissive position. Hannibal arranged his hands over his head, in deference to the scalp Will tended to abuse, left in the throes of his own controlled madness.

His tied wrists matched those on his nude thighs, spread and held with soft, familiar rope to prevent an instinctive clenching of his buttocks. “Not if I say otherwise,” Hannibal countered, intentionally forfeiting Will’s precautionary lubrication, accustomed to his slick productivity. “This ancient punishment provided long hours of suffering for undisciplined slaves or adulterous alphas, whom claimed itches and burns lasted hours if adequately administered.”

Rather than recoil from the promised discomfort, Will unconsciously emitted an inviting, tantalising scent, which pleasantly complimented the sliced ginger. Hannibal rightly presumed it would result exceptional from an alphan perspective, as well as his own.

Separating Will’s round cheeks with steady hands, insinuating the carved instrument in their warm, welcoming depths, Hannibal conjured profane images of Will’s experience with other individuals, _endowed_ individuals, whose place he was enthusiastically usurping. Hannibal never found his own nature ill-fitted, unsatisfying, nor his own figure lacking, less than well versed for his own necessities. Will would eventually concur in their absolute compatibility as mates.

“I will install this plug in proximity of your prostate, in absence of a knot,” Hannibal briefly explained, “you will describe aloud your sensations accurately, minute by minute, in order to recall the experience with clarity whenever your mind feels overwhelmed by foreign thoughts.” His calm voice lulled Will into a compliant mental state, which visibly helped him relax his tense shoulders. His lower back promptly adjusted to the dry intrusion, languidly presenting for Hannibal, as he thrusted the urticating tool in one fluid, precise motion.

“You long to penetrate me,” Will observed, distracting himself before even the first thirty seconds passed. His bare nape already sweating with anticipation. “To fill my insides, to occupy a place you perceive as empty in me.”

“I admitted my own pronounced interest in your person, mind and body as it is, when I bought breakfast to our second encounter, offering an opinion of you I couldn’t in good conscience express in front of Jack,” Hannibal remembered, sitting with crossed legs in front of Will’s delightfully arranged figure. His clock indolently counting their shared lapses of time. “I find your company challenging, you always pierce through our discussion with accuracy, which makes me want to replicate your attitude.” Hannibal smiled at him with genuine tenderness. “Although I must correct your assumption, Will. There’s no place in your existence that needs to be filled.”

Therefore Hannibal was working hard on creating one for himself.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never pass on a good occasion to write beta pairings ;)


	8. Exhausted [#BottomHannibalDay]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @fatal-fic: _Hannibal is an insatiable power bottom who keeps Will permanently exhausted but in the best way_  
>  **Tags:** Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Nail Technician Hannibal, Established relationship, Safe sex, Mild Hand kink, I said it was mild, Manicure, Fingering, D/s undertones, Power Bottom Hannibal, Body worship, Not beta read ([x](https://cinnamaldeide.tumblr.com/post/176837145309/))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spin-off on Will and Hannibal’s intimate relationship to celebrate the inclusion of [Beautiful Hands](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15438396/chapters/35834916) in the FreshMeatFriday collection [thanks to Hannibalsimago](https://cinnamaldeide.tumblr.com/post/178474913874/) :*

Passionate about his work as Hannibal was, Will surmised he couldn’t refrain from bringing it home. He would expect as much, despite Hannibal’s capacity for compartmentalisation. What Will _didn’t_ expect is for his lover to take it into his bedroom as well.

“I never took you for a hand fetishist, of all things,” Will teased, sitting on Hannibal’s damask chair instead of his soft bed, meekly extending his fingers. “Your dedication to fattening and dressing me up is just the tip of the iceberg, isn’t it?”

“While I consider it my duty and honour to feed you properly and procure tasteful clothes for the mere pleasure of stripping you out of them,” Hannibal answered, approaching him from the bathroom with a suspicious bowl in tow, “I confess I’m indulging my own whim on this particular occasion.”

Kneeling in front of him on a matching floor pillow, Hannibal started arranging instruments, dry towels and essential oils within his reach. “So selfish of you,” Will commented, before gulping audibly at the sight of Hannibal between his spread legs.

Tenderly caressing Will’s left hand, coaxing it in his own in a ritualistic courtship, Hannibal began washing it with warm water and a lavender-scented soap. His massaging motion easing Will’s tense shoulders. Will anticipated his touch, despite himself. Hannibal carefully wiped it clean upon finishing, generous with his ministrations.

“You’ve been doing this all day long, shouldn’t you be tired of that,” Will inquired with little conviction, sensitive to such intense attention, while Hannibal worked exfoliative lotion on his palm, on its back, between his fingers. Dead cells were being scrubbed under Hannibal’s powerful pushes and Will could barely keep his mind from imagining those strong hands elsewhere. He felt mildly dirty for his association.

As Hannibal began to patiently adjust his ruined nails with an adequately gritting file, silently frowning upon his persistent nervous habits, Will realised his methodical procedure conjured a pleasant sense of stability in his loosened limbs. Reiterating their established routine in a domestic environment was paradoxically causing Will to _enjoy_ his treatment.

“I commend your ability to make me stop thinking,” Will praised Hannibal, gaining a delicate kiss on his own wrist for his effort.

“We’re only halfway done, my dear,” Hannibal pointed out, indicating Will’s right hand, left untouched so far. “I’ll endeavour to starve off your wandering thoughts, so you’ll drain your own spare energy when these lovely nails will finally be inside of me.”

Lifting one of Will’s unpolished finger to his mouth, holding Will’s rapt stare, Hannibal suckled at it with single-minded indecency, before asserting, “I can’t wait.”

In Will’s defence, Hannibal hadn’t to wait long. As soon as his nails were deemed passably smooth, unlikely to accidentally scratch or disturb their intimacy, Will was allowed to insert them in Hannibal’s hole, one at a time, slick with lubricant and residues of hand lotion which would have required more time to dry completely.

Their current predicament hadn’t certainly dissuaded Will about Hannibal’s hand kink.

Returning gentle kisses and caresses with fervent devotion, Will explored Hannibal’s eager body, massaging with his unoccupied hand the sore thigh leaning on his own shoulder, biting it to punctuate kindness with a glimpse of impatience. “May I add another?” Will asked, two knuckles deep in his orifice.

“Don’t ask permission,” Hannibal commanded, eyes shut in bliss. “As many as you want,” he answered with far too steady words for Will’s preference. “I can take them,” Hannibal continued, while Will distracted him fondling a familiar nerve bundle, right where he liked. “I can take them all, if they’re yours.”

Tempting an offer as Hannibal’s was, Will considered verging on impolite the amount of time elapsed since both their cocks received some attention. “Sure you can, _darlin’_ , but can I fuck you with my dick instead,” Will goaded, delightfully anticipating his lover’s warmth, “or do I need to have it manicured too?”

“I don’t think my equipment is sterile anymore,” Hannibal countered, using Will’s sweaty neck as leverage to raise himself on his elbow. “Do you think your dick is ready for me all the same?” Hannibal taunted, but Will did. Will had no doubt on the matter. “On your hands and knees then.” He’d wore a condom in any case.

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Hannibal drew an enchanting, gleeful smile, which Will often associated with troubles. “No instruction required,” Hannibal replied, before sneaking from under Will and towering over his frame, forcing Will to lie on ruined linens and assorted pillows. “I’m rather positive you know how to please me,” Hannibal said, running his warm hands on Will’s chest with confident lasciviousness, “but I _did_ warn I’d be indulging myself tonight.”

As Will intermittently blinked at his hirsute legs circling his own torso in an obscene embrace, petting aimlessly at the warm skin to which he could access, Hannibal located their condoms, took possession of one, gingerly held its intact envelope between tight lips while stimulating Will’s balls, his length, the underside of his hips. Hypnotic moves to further starve his hunger.

Submitting to such an unnecessary stimulation for Hannibal’s capricious desire, Will endured his fair share of blessed absent-mindedness. Moaning his own appreciation when Hannibal’s tongue lavished his sensible nipples, before proceeding on his pulsating head, Will wondered if coming would surpass their foreplay in satisfaction. “I’m close,” he alerted, when he’d been at his closest to find out.

Even wearing a rubber with Hannibal’s aid was ecstatic torture. Will suspected he enjoyed the sight of Will’s penis cradled in his own hands.

“Our age difference favours your refractory period,” Hannibal said, seating on Will’s turgid erection with practiced ease, eliciting an undignified groan from his partner, “but I prefer not to waste a perfectly good opportunity to ride you to exhaustion.”

Hadn’t Will’s nails been adequately trimmed and polished beforehand, they’d have painfully sunk in Hannibal’s flanks, when he imposed a rapid pace, leaving marks on his otherwise unscarred flesh. Will had been mindful of his shoulders and backside at the dawn of their relationship, too careful perhaps, before Hannibal took it as a personal challenge to deprive him of his self-control.

Sweating and silently swearing, Will was at Hannibal’s mercy, literally in his hands. Even he couldn’t cope with the redundancy.

Holding still to accommodate Hannibal’s variable speed, his unrelenting entry-exit rhythm, Will contemplated the delightful emptying of his brain from afar, with curious detachment. His legs twitched, eager to flex but resisting the urge, his toes curled. Hannibal gasped and bit his own lips, messy hair bouncing in time with the rest of his delectable physique. Will was a stranger in his own body, remade by someone else into a malleable creature of pleasure and perdition.

When Hannibal sustained himself on Will’s chest to undulate his hips in a certain manner, to find just the right angle to hit his own prostate, suffocating Will under his grounding weight, Will finally gave in to the temptation of extending his hands on Hannibal’s arm, on his damp dick, to plant his feet on the soaked mattress and _thrust_. With his pelvis, with his spine, with his neck, with everything that would result in his own belly covered in Hannibal’s spent.

So gratifying was climaxing for Will mere seconds after him. So tiring as well. Hannibal had done most of the work, but still Will wasn’t about to move a single muscle anytime soon.

“Fuck, I’m exhausted,” Will breathlessly whispered once a feeble connection between his mind and body was restored. His right leg was cramping, which let him presume their lovemaking protracted itself longer than usual. Will wasn’t likely to obtain his fair amount of sleep before sunrise. “Bags under my eye tomorrow at work, great,” he announced, sarcastic enthusiasm in his tone. Will spared a pained moment to wonder if Chiyoh would notice.

She would _know_. Her glacial eyes would lay on Will and she’d find him guilty of naughty business involving her spiritual brother. It wouldn’t bother Will as much, didn’t he consider Hannibal’s sibling as his own. At least the closest Will could conceive.

Heedless of his inner turmoil, Hannibal plastered his sweaty self on him, unapologetically fondling his frame, caressing him with the tip of his nose, kissing or playfully licking his sweaty skin. “Don’t count yourself lucky, dear Will,” he whispered in his ear, leading his eager hands towards Will’s butt with ambitious intentions. Hannibal didn’t seem satisfied with Will’s disbelieving expression. “I wouldn’t take for granted there’ll be work tomorrow in your schedule.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For GreenPhoenix, Fhimechan, Zigzagwanderer, Necronon, Tyler_Durden, Hannibalsimago and anyone else wondering why Will always looks so tired ;) thank you so much for showing your support to my work ♡  
> A couple of days after I published, @moonstag produced [an **amazing** (nsfw) fanart](https://cinnamaldeide.tumblr.com/post/177441634069/), which I adore endlessly and which compelled me to write a [short sequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12246243/chapters/36808395) of this indecent night :]


	9. Lightheaded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @Slasherimagines: _Imagine Hannibal reading a book, playing with your hair as you lay in his lap_  
>  **Tags:** Post-Season 3, Touch-Starved, Domestic, Tooth-rotting fluff (at least for my standard), Healing, Hannibal’s crush is visible from space, Reading Aloud, Penthesilea from Kleist, Description of violence, Not beta read ([x](https://cinnamaldeide.tumblr.com/post/177933490949/))

Left to his own devices, quietly pursuing an entertaining, innocuous pastime, Hannibal Lecter would favour the toughest readings. Warming himself in front of a brightly roaring fire with a light Chianti in hand and an esoteric book on his lap, he could contempt himself with his evening plans.

Considering his own uncooperative facial injury physically prevented the smooth course of their intense conversations, Will dreaded Hannibal would find their circumstances rather frustrating, insufferably tedious, an elusive yet _not subtle_ incentive from primordial and cruel deities to search for creative ways to employ his destructive energies. With great relief, Will found instead himself silently admiring his convalescent figure, more often than not comfortably settled on the sofa, blanketed in unsightly plaid, antibiotics and Ovid.

Reading in Latin, of course.

Despite himself, Will couldn’t envision himself occupying the vacant spot by his still recovering side, peeking over his shoulder, commenting on his wine selection, until Hannibal deemed it appropriate to remove the stitches from his sore cheek and Will had to rest his head on his thigh, waiting for Hannibal to comply.

His skin required the application of an adequate medications at regular intervals to properly heal, Hannibal announced. He would administer the antiseptic for Will after dinner every night, massage his scar tissue for twelve minutes to facilitate its absorbing, establishing a routine that would inevitably relieve their recent diet of touch starvation.

To simulate a semblance of indifference for the both of them, Hannibal maintained his customary late night reading, offering to substitute his _Metamorphoses_ with a novel of Will’s choosing to read aloud. “You pick,” Will acquiesced. “As long as it’s in English,” he specified briefly after, just to be safe. Will would have liked to believe it was superfluous, but he knew better.

Previous to their glorious dragon hunt, in an existence they left behind, Will never imagined willingly lying down on Hannibal Lecter’s crossed legs, relaxing to the circular motion of deft fingers on his own numbed face, gently soothed by his calm voice as Hannibal hymned the deeds of yet another fictional version of Achilles’ prowess. Redundancy hardly ever bothered him in any case.

“ _The fight calls for me once again to the battlefield. I want to tame that young, defiant god of war_ ,” Hannibal intoned, borrowing fierce lines from threadbared pages to describe the Greek hero. “ _Ten thousand suns, melted in an orb of ardour, wouldn’t shine as brightly as my triumph, my triumph over him._ ” Will briefly stirred at the familiar image. Lovers on different sides of the field prasing and yearning their opponent’s fervour.

“ _I want to see him at my feet in the dust, the reckless man that disrupted in this glorious day of slaughter my victorious elation, like no other before_ ,” Hannibal continued reciting Penthesilea’s urgent words with enviable emphasis, as if those belonged to him instead of the Amazonian queen soon to rush into combat. “ _I want to plunge into the thick of the battle, where his sneering self awaits me, and submit him to me or not live at all_.”

Loosening his rapidly tightening shoulders, Will allowed himself to close his eyes and absorb his passionate words, painting with vivid colours the gruesome scenes in his own lethargic mind. The ointment on his skin would dry shortly. He could be patient until then, even enjoy Hannibal’s performance.

Unsurprisingly, the evocative dialogues and tragic events didn’t become less dramatic in the course of the narration, love kept impetuously feasting upon the protagonists’ unsettled minds, but Hannibal’s wandering fingers slowly, steady migrated from his nursed cheek to his sideburn, before venturing in his hair. Lightly, kindly.

Conscious as Will was of Hannibal’s therapeutic need for tactile stimulation, he didn’t protest about the attentions, yet the juxtaposition of cruel vicissitudes and soft caresses remained stunning. It gave him a strong, staggering sense of lightheadedness, which preempted further complaints on the subject of the drama.

Will could admit his own dormant yearning for unthreatening physical contact, although expecting it from Hannibal without repercussions was probably more than a little bit insane. He felt like he needed to be distracted from such a line of thought. “I swear you sound like you’re translating right now and adapting it to our experience,” Will observed, expecting Hannibal’s correction for his unlikely assumption.

When none came, Will turned to stare openly at him. He briefly contemplated asking an elaborate variant of _Seriously_ or _What the actual fuck_ , instead opting for concentrating on the most obvious conclusion about their chosen drama Will could ever draw. “She eats him in the end, doesn’t she.”

Unperturbed, Hannibal diverted his attention from the book in question to focus entirely on Will. “Translation requires adaptation. Not everyone possesses the competence to interpret the original message and convey it to a differently contextualised audience,” Hannibal said. “And yes, she does. Eventually.”

Incredulous, Will fought the natural instinct to let his jaw just drop. “How do you _always_ find such- never mind,” Will relented, perfectly aware of Hannibal’s penchant for teasing, himself in particular. “I suppose I had it coming when I asked you to choose,” Will conceded.

As Hannibal’s hand abandoned all pretence of casualness, Will felt it idly stroke his nape with blessed nonchalance, briefly reminding Will of unaccomplished murders and unpredictable chrysalises. “She consumes Achilles in savage abandon, mauling and tearing his tender flesh as starving dogs would a defenceless prey,” Hannibal said. His fondness for the suggestive imaginary clearly visible from Saturn. “She defends herself claiming that kisses and bites rhyme for those who love with their whole heart.”

In good conscience, Will could barely acknowledge the possible implicit meaning behind his gentle tone and gleaming eyes. Hannibal would surely find him a lacking interpreter of his own message, however plainly romantic it sounded. “You just ruined the ending,” Will dryly pointed out, quite distracted by Hannibal’s calm breath on his own scarred face, almost warmer than the flames behind his shoulders.

“On the contrary,” Hannibal sentenced, lightly thumbing his cheekbone, meekly gazing at his rosy lips. “I believe I entirely rewrote it.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My translation of Kleist’s _Penthesilea_ has been mildly manipulated for the sole purpose of encouraging its reading, [here](http://www.digbib.org/Heinrich_von_Kleist_1777/Penthesilea_.pdf) in German for anyone interested. It has some beautiful Hannibalesque vibes.


	10. Hypothetical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @Vampyroslesboss: _That scene where Hannibal washes Bedelia’s hair in the bathtub… but instead of Bedelia, it’s Will._  
>  **Tags:** Post-season 2, Canon divergence, Will follows Hannibal in Italy, Abigail Hobbs lives, Bathing, Domestic, First kiss, Beta read ([x](https://cinnamaldeide.tumblr.com/post/178913923334/))

White pillar candles unhurriedly burned in remote corners of Will’s eyes, lighting limited portions of the otherwise dim surroundings of the bathtub in which his bare self was currently lying. Bare as those blank walls, those marble sanitaries, those hypnotic hands massaging his scalp. Impersonal and indifferent.

His nostrils were filled with sweet basil and jasmine. Will could have been simmering in his own aromatic broth, while Hannibal behind his naked shoulders soaped his hair carefully.

“I trust you’re aware your _appetite_ is showing,” Will felt entitled to state. “I’m fairly sure you wouldn’t bother to take me to the other side of the world just to marinate me and eat me at your leisure, but I’m suspecting the appeal is not lost on you.” Will was by then accustomed to Hannibal’s facetiousness.

Their long journey certainly dulled his senses, his conflicted mind, his perception of reality. Florence had overwhelmed him with its palaces and its crowds. Hannibal had suggested a warm bath to ease his fatigue. It would ground his tired limbs, Hannibal claimed. Nothing still felt real to Will.

“I wish I could reassure you about my intentions towards your body,” Hannibal affirmed with false, immodest contrition. He cared about no such thing, Will suspected. “Consumption requires renunciation. Were I to dine on you, I’d face the loss of your precious mind, with which I find myself largely enthralled,” _for the moment_ went unspoken. “I’d rather know where your thoughts have been wandering than dissect your brain to find out,” Hannibal said.

Lather was gently swept from Will’s eyebrows. His heavy lids dropped, eyes languidly shut, and Will was abruptly presented with the unholy sight of Jack’s open throat, running blood all over Hannibal’s refined tablecloth. Abigail at the threshold, hesitantly waiting for Will’s move. His own subsequent punch in Hannibal’s mouth.

She was visiting some place or another presently. Enjoying the agreeable weather and fresh air after her long confinement. Hannibal would have killed her right there, in his own kitchen, had Will not chosen as he had. Will knew immediately Hannibal had required Jack’s sacrifice for Abigail’s resurrection, confronted with the fait accompli. “I keep contemplating different outcomes of that night, bloodier and bloodless,” Will admitted, still mourning his past, virtuous self, silently feeling bad for _not_ feeling bad about replacing him with an updated version capable of joy. “Where they would have taken us, where we would be left with ourselves if we acted otherwise,” Will wondered, drowsy. Hannibal cupped his palm in the water and unhurriedly led some in his hair. “I’m still wrapping my mind around this happiness I’m not sure I’m due.”

Especially not if commensurate with his friends’ suffering and moral capitulation. Embracing the darkness he fought his whole life wasn’t easy.

Behind him, Hannibal’s hands encircled Will’s neck. “I guess your instinct to punish yourself over positive feelings will subdue in time, momentarily leaving you unsatisfied with our actual predicament,” Hannibal whispered in his ear, bent forward, reflected image staring at Will. It was intimate and dangerous. Will relaxed in his caressing grip. “Indulging yourself now means disrespecting an entire existence of endurance and respectability,” Hannibal noted, breathing on Will’s wet cheek. “I hope you’re not regretting your decision already.”

His meek tone implied his flattered ego wasn’t entirely convinced Will would remain by his side for either of their sakes. Turning to face him, Will disrupted the smooth surface of the opaque, scented water, basil and jasmine saturing his nose. “It’s not regret if I’d repeat it,” he specified.

Despite Hannibal’s confidence and capacity for adaptation, the mere idea of Will’s abandon twisted his features in repulsion. Close as they were, Will could admire his disdain, his reticence. His stubborn frown, thinking about Will’s hypothetical betrayal.

“You thought you’d leave without me,” Will broke their silence. “You thought there would be nothing further you could do to make me kill Jack, to make me choose _you_ ,” and there really was little else as drastic as Hannibal’s coercive manoeuvres. “It’s okay, Hannibal, I thought so too.”

Will could have sworn something in Hannibal fractured at his words. His worries condensed into a succinct sentence. His fears confirmed so plainly.

“But you didn’t, and I’m here.”

Abigail was still outside. Enjoying the agreeable weather and fresh air. Will was still bare in their unfamiliar, pretentious bathtub, wondering whether scented water disturbed Hannibal’s sense of smell much more than scented candles. Still naked under his delicate, firm grip.

After having abandoned his past insecurities, savouring the addicting, intense satisfaction of indulging himself, Will knew he’d struggle to come up with a reason not to.

Will reached forward to taste Hannibal’s lips with closed eyes and residual foam in his hair, letting them both soak the gentle touch through their bones, steam from the water and their breath alike. Will held tight on the ceramic edge upon which he was leaning, running drops from his hands instead of grasping Hannibal’s clothed bicep, tempting as it was to wet him.

Will had supposed Hannibal would have minded the dampness, which was in itself reason enough to mess with him, but instead found himself encircled by his arms, as Hannibal accommodated his upper body in a languid embrace, slowly deepening their kiss as their chests met, buttons pressing on Will’s skin.

Will was so engrossed in the moment he barely heard the front door opening to let Abigail inside.

All of the sudden, Will felt compelled to press his forehead against Hannibal’s to separate them. He didn’t want to severe their connection though. He wanted to make out some more, explore an intimacy he hadn’t pursued in years and hadn’t planned to experience with Hannibal, of all people, but knowing Abigail could catch them in the act made Will feel awkward, secretive even. The best kind of naughty.

Hannibal seemed to share his concern, albeit displaying his bemusement entirely differently from Will, staring at Will’s mouth with intent, the beginning of an inexcusable beard burn around his lips. “It was an entirely different kind of appetite after all.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks @Killers_on_mondays for having dedicated a moment to read and correct my work :)  
> Next week I’ll be posting my contribution for the Murder Husbands Big Bang, so there’ll be no update on this collection, but be sure to take a look at my production, I’ll probably never write as much again ^^

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this chapter, consider leaving **kudos** and liking/reblogging [my post on Tumblr](https://cinnamaldeide.tumblr.com/tagged/All-manner-of-uncomfortable-positions-%28collection%29) as well; other people might get the chance to like it too ;) If you’d like to propose a prompt as well, all you need to know is written [here](https://cinnamaldeide.tumblr.com/post/169537195414/).


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